


Relief Bleached Over

by Kitsunechan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Child Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Kurloz is a Fucking Awesome Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsunechan/pseuds/Kitsunechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tilts his head sideways. "Okay? What's gonna be speaked about?" He finishes his soup and walks over to the sink, dumping his bowl and walking back. He puts his head in his hands and gives you as serious of a look as he can muster. It breaks you a bit inside, how this sweet little kid could have something shitty going his way when you're not around. "I'm real seeri..us." He stumbles over the pronunciation and holy shit he is the cutest kid you have ever met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief Bleached Over

   You were wondering when this would happen. Your job is to babysit the six year old son of your very distant cousin. You can't even tell you two are related, really- the only thing you and him have in common is the last name. He's always leaving you heftier salaries than he should, Gamzee is pretty well behaved every time you come over. The kind of well behaved where you just have to microwave those little dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and he's set for half an hour kind of thing. You enjoy staying over and doing little kid things with him, like painting that fingerpainting of the chickadee on his windowsill or reading him stories when he can't sleep. 

  The fact his dad's never around to do these with him is some sad shit.

   You began to notice little things though, as the months in the summer switch to September and he goes back to school. You're more often than not being sent over to their big as fuck house to watch him after his days in second grade. You also notice how when you're not watching him is when his dad comes home, and how when you come back after said visits he's meeker. Quieter. Not really asking for much. It gets to the point you have to sit down with him and talk this shit out.

   "Gamzee. Look at me." You hate to do this today. It's one of his good days and you don't want to spoil his high spirits, but as he  looks up at you from his bowl of spagettios with these big blue eyes, you know it will be better in the long run. "Listen up little one. We need to talk something serious."

   He tilts his head sideways. "Okay? What's gonna be speaked about?" He finishes his soup and walks over to the sink, dumping his bowl and walking back. He puts his head in his hands and gives you as serious of a look as he can muster. It breaks you a bit inside, how this sweet little kid could have something shitty going his way when you're not around. "I'm real seeri..us." He stumbles over the pronunciation and holy shit he is the cutest kid you have ever met.

   "Your father." He stops. Everything on him falls. His shoulders, his eyes, his smile, his happiness. He looks at you like a kicked puppy and his eyes start to water- oh shit he fucking  _sobbing what the actual fuck is wrong with you?_

    "He don't mean nufing by it," the kid chokes out, holding an arm out to you, pulling up the sleeve of his small purple jacket. You try your hardest not to break something. Another tear drops off his chin, plopping on his bleach-stained pants.

     Inside your heart, something shatters. 

\---

   He's afraid. You can tell, he's fiddling with the hem of his baggy shirt, eyebrows scrunched In the middle and mouth set into a thin line. He hasn't eaten all day, nor has he spoken, and the facts are a little more than concerning. His small chest hitches with uneven breaths, eyes downcast. You place a hand on his shoulder, and he jumps.

   "You okay kid?" You ask, and he kind of jerks his head up and down like a broken bobble head. You huff out a sigh, not believing it for a millisecond. "C'mere," You rumble softly, opening your arms. He falls into them like the floor fell out from under him and clings to you like his life depends on it.

     "It'll be okay, kid. Everything's gonna be alright." His shoulders shake and your stomach grows wet (the kid's so small, damn it) and you learn that Gamzee's really good at crying quietly. You bend down, wrap your arms around his thin frame, hoist him up to hold him like a the scared little seven year old he is. He wraps his skinny arms around your neck and buries his face in your shoulder, and there you two stay, standing in the hallway until the trial.

     As it turns out, Gamzee's old  goat of a dad is charged with a number of things. When they say child abuse you wish you could hold the kid tighter (god damn it you wish you'd found out sooner than you did. You fucking regret that to no end.), but he's halfway across the room with some cousin on his mom's side you've never met before. He gets sent to prison, and the kid ends up with some fancy ass woman called Serket. You don't see the kid again until ten years later.

    You are on your way to Walmart, you are running pretty low on coffee and you can't live without that miraculous shit. You walk around the store like an idiot for awhile, then you finally locate the aisle you were looking for and look around. The first thing you see is Ravioli,  and your first thought is how you should get some, it's Monday and you need to pick Gamzee up after school. He loves that shit.

     You blink, wondering where that thought came from. You shake your head, proceeding on your expedition for coffee beans.  You pick up a bag and walk to the frozen foods aisle, wondering if you could just live off of chicken nuggets for tonight. You reach for the dinosaur shaped ones on instinct, pause, and take them anyway. You really need to get your head straight.

     Hell with it. You think, picking up a box of strawberry Poptarts on your way to checkout. You drop your items in front of the cashier, she smiles at you and you offer a small smile back.

     "Kits gotta eat too, eh Kurloz?" Your smile droops a bit, but you manage to keep it there.

     "Eh, more or less. Mine's all up an' motherfuckin' gone, more of an instinct now, Meulin." She nods sympathetically,  placing your items in a bag while you swipe your credit card.

     "Well, every kit needs to learn how to hunt for themselves someday," she says, handing you your bag. "My little Nepawta has clawready grown up so fast."

     You muster up another small smile, taking the bag in your hand and leaving. On the drive home, you ponder on what would happen if the kid was never sent away.

 

     It's  winter now, and you stare out your window, watching the snow fall while munching on another Poptart. (Damn, ever since the kid left you've had an obsession with these things) You make up your mind, grabbing your coat and house keys because hell if your locking yourself out in weather like this. You open the front door, and the cold winter wind bites at your face. You set off to Walmart, not bothering to unbury your car from the snow.

     As soon as you get there, you go straight to the aisle with the unholy amount of pastries and napkins. You pick up three boxes of strawberry Poptarts and stick them under one arm, sticking the last two peanut butter ones under the other and calling it good. As you walk to the front of the store with your Poptarts in tow, you see someone familiar wave at you from the other end of the frozen foods aisle. 

     It's Gamzee fucking Makara. He's taller, probably as tall as you now what the fuck. His hair is in wild, dyed purple curls that frame his face (when did he get those piercings what did you miss). He still wears the face paint, he still wears the royal purple Capricorn zodiac on his sweatshirt, he still wears jeans splotches with white paint and bleach, and you probably look like your about to cry because holy shit  _he looks so grown up._  

     "Old man!" He says as you walk up to him. You see him with his arms loaded with those mini 'White Castle' burgers you used to buy every Friday as celebration for somehow managing to get through the week in a wold full of idiots.

     "Little one!" You say back as he walks up to you. He sees you with your arms loaded with the strawberry Poptarts you used to get him every Friday as celebration for somehow managing to do good in school in a class full of idiots.

     You both stand there in the middle of Walmart, your arms filled with ridiculous amounts of boxes and dopey smiles on your faces. You missed caring for the kid and he missed the way you cared for him and you both break down in overwhelmed laughter at the same time.

(Later, you let him sleep on your bed while you get the couch. His seventeen year old self didn't fall asleep unless you were in the room with him, so you never even made it that far. You passed out in the bed with his head across your knees and a copy of the  _Jungle Book_ in your lap and you think you could get used to this.)


End file.
